


Felt What?

by SalazarTipton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Motel Room Confessions, Short One Shot, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steter Week 2018, impending danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/SalazarTipton
Summary: In the same spot as his own, Peter has a soul mark. The outline of a wolfsbane blossom over a circular emblem sitting on his left hip--a perfect match to Stiles’ own mark.





	Felt What?

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little one shot. don't go in the comments asking for more. pleeeease.

Stiles throws the bolt over on the door and struggles to loop the security chain on the other lock above. His fingers slip, shaking too much to fit the pieces together. It rattles against the door in time with his movements, sounding like the erratic scratching of metal on metal. Peter’s hands appears over his shoulder, easily taking the chain from him and sliding it into place. Although the little string of rings probably won’t do much about protecting them against what they’re running from, seeing it helps Stiles controlling his breathing just enough so he no longer feels on the edge of a panic attack. Now he just feels exhausted. 

 

He turns, not having enough energy to freak out about Peter being close enough for the motion to brush their chests together for a moment. Peter brings up his hands to steady him. The touch makes him jump. 

 

“Are you okay?” Peter asking, holding Stiles’ still by the shoulders, but keeping his grip loose enough to not feel claustrophobic. 

 

“Physically? I-I don’t think I got hurt, but mentally? I’m kinda losing it here, dude. Not only are we currently in the process of being hunted, but we’re holed up in one of the worst motels I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing all while not knowing where the hell everyone else is,” Stiles all but shouts. 

 

As the words fall out, so does the hyperactive tension holding his up. He slumps into Peter’s hold, staring into his eyes hoping the guy has some super secret way out of this mess he didn’t feel necessary to share earlier. 

 

“The pack is fine. I have no clue where they are, but they aren’t in immediate danger,” Peter offers. 

 

“You can’t know that…” Peter’s face tenses at his carening tone, turning downward. 

 

“Pack bonds. Right now I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you,” he explains further, guiding him to the bed.

 

Stiles sits gingerly, letting Peter’s words take hold. Everyone is fine, probably. They’re safe for the time being. Come morning, it’ll be safe for them to leave and head back to Beacon Hills to figure out a Plan B, C, and all the way through freaking W if he wants. He’s safe. He  _ and Peter _ and safe...together. He takes in a slow, deep breath, and exhales, creating a rhythm to make his heart chill out. Peter’s hand starts rubbing soothing patterns on his left shoulder, grounding him. When Stiles looks back up and him with an even heart rate again he visibly relaxs--shoulders falling a little and his brows evening out. He looks much better without stress scrunching his face, he thinks, but keeps the comment to himself. Now is so not the time. 

 

“Take your shirt off,” Peter tells him. “Don’t give me that look. I smell blood and you could be in shock. Besides, I can see claw marks on your shoulder.”

 

Stiles reaches up to feel what he’s talking about. His spindly fingers slip into a tear in the fabric, stiff most likely from dried blood. He prods his skin and hisses. The cut has already started to scab over in a jagged, bumpy line. Another scar to add to his collection. It could have been far worse. I little more to the left and it could have been his neck. 

 

He pushes out a sigh and lifts the hem of his shirt to take it off, but his shoulder won’t cooperate. Stiles glares up at Peter, half stuck. Peter doesn’t let him struggle for long. He works Stiles’ hurting arm out after carefully peeling the dried blood away from his wound. Stiles looks away from Peter as his fingers slip under the neck of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head giving his hair a little ruffle in the process. 

 

He feels the dip of the bed behind him and Peter’s hand ghosting over the scratch, if you could call it that. It consists of three distinct lines spanning from his shoulder blade down to mid bicep. Stiles sucks in a breath when his hand flattens against the base of his spine. He opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, but the sound shifts into a moan he isn’t proud of as the pain starting to flood his system as the adrenaline leaves is pulled from him. He slumps back against Peter’s chest, unfazed about getting any blood on him. 

 

“Why didn’t you say you were in so much pain?”

 

Stiles give a half-hearted shrug. 

 

“This’ll need to be cleaned, at the least. I don’t think it’s wide enough to warrant stitches.”

 

“I’ve got some stuff in my bag,” Stiles says, moving to get up. Peter stills him with a light touch to his uninjured shoulder, getting up in his stead and crossing the room. 

 

Stiles watches him rifle through the duffle bag back by the door, ignoring the empty space on his back that Peter had just been, like a hole of absent warmth. He doesn’t know when the idea of Peter’s body against his had lost the negative connotation in his mind. Now the idea sounds nice, warm, even safe. Peter settles back down behind him with some of his supplies and gets to work. 

 

As Peter’s hands move over him, working on the long claw marks, Stiles lets his mind wander. An easy silence settles in the room only permeated by the rustling of packaging and the occasional sound of displeasure from Stiles. Too soon Peter’s hands still on him, finished cleaning and dressing the wound. 

 

“Since when do you know first aid?” Stiles asks, trying to look over his shoulder at the long patch of gauze. 

 

“There seem to be many things you’re unaware of about me,” Peter whispers back, voice carrying a heavy weight Stiles’ hadn’t been expecting. His left hand trails down Stiles’ back over to his hip, resting just below his soul mark. 

 

It feels too intimate. Stiles squirms under his attention. 

 

Since learning about the supernatural, Stiles’ has grown even more protective of his soul mark, embarrassed even. Only his dad, Scott, and Melissa have seen it. At least up until now he’s kept it to himself, always changing quickly in the locker room, putting himself on the shirts team in gym class, and so on. 

 

He gulps down the tightness growing in his throat. The longer Peter goes without speaking, the more he wants to crawl into a hole or maybe leave the safety of this shitty motel room so the mysterious thing that got a piece of him could finish the job. Stiles doesn’t have the time to finish the thought of  _ how  _ it would go about killing him, though, because Peter’s hands slip off of Stiles’ skin, reaching for the hem of his own shirt. 

 

Peter turns away from Stiles, hiking up his henley in the process. Stiles’ mind is running a thousand scenarios of what the hell he could be doing, but none of them match up with what he sees. In the same spot as his own, Peter has a soul mark. The outline of a wolfsbane blossom over a circular emblem sitting on his left hip--a perfect match to Stiles’ mark. 

 

Tentatively, he reaches out a shaking hand to follow along the black lines. They’re warm to his touch, feelings as if they’re pulling up to meet him. The edges raise slightly against Peter’s skin as Stiles’ thumb brushes over them. Something deep within Stiles’ chest tugs hard towards Peter. He moves with the motion of it without thinking, bending down to ghost his lips over the mark. Before he can kiss it, he pulls back, fast. 

 

“What the hell,” Stiles whispers more to himself than anything. 

 

Peter looks over his shoulder at Stiles with a creeping smirk running across his lips. “You felt that too?”

 

“Felt what? Dude, I’m still supernaturalling inept. Please just spell out what’s going on before I--I--”

 

“You just felt our pack bond snap into place. Well...it isn’t just a pack bond anymore,” Peter says, slowly turning to face Stiles properly. “It’s the start of a soul bond, if you’ll have me, that is.”

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! i'd love to hear from you <3
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://bialiencowboy.tumblr.com/)


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